


The Adventures of the Lawyer Buddies

by jenofvengerberg



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, She-Hulk
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Cheesy, Comedy, Gen, I'm still mad the She Hulk comic got cancelled, Lawyer Buddies, Male-Female Friendship, Starbucks, comics-mcu mashup i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenofvengerberg/pseuds/jenofvengerberg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She-Hulk and Daredevil decide over some Starbucks to do a team-up. All does not go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

It took Foggy three days to notice that Matt was missing.

Which, granted, was a new record for Foggy. In college it would take him a week to notice, then another to actually start considering to worry. But the anxieties of an adult along with the realities of Hell's Kitchen crept up on him, and so whether he liked it not, he started to _care_ about things a lot faster.

Matt's absence was a charming thing in small doses. Karen could organize paperwork without it becoming a mountain of chaos within hours. She even had time to staple the reports, which was super. But when it got into Day 2 of the paperwork being immaculate and the office alarmingly quiet, Foggy sent their intrepid receptionist home early and started making frantic phone calls. By the next morning he had an appointment to stumble out of Hell's Kitchen and into the Avengers Tower.

"I still don't understand why you guys can't just make house calls." he quipped while inviting himself to a soft leather armchair across from an extremely incredulous-looking Black Widow. Normally he couldn't be bothered with niceties for his best friend's exes, but he made exceptions for highly trained lethal super-spies.   
  
"What, and deprive a Hell's Kitchen boy of the chance to enjoy the view?" she quipped, gesturing to the floor-to-ceiling window panes that made up the tower's exterior. Very art deco meets cyberpunk meets Tony Stark experimenting with architectural design while hopped up on caffeine pills. It would have been a gorgeous view of the city, were it not for the endless scaffolding and other accents meant to rebuild the concrete jungle, time and again after whatever superpowered clash of the month had occurred. 

"Much appreciated." Foggy replied dryly. "I think I can see Spider-Man's house from here."

"Speaking of which." Natasha's switch to talking business was subtle, but commanding. "You came out here to call in a favor when you could have just gone to him, or the rest of the crowd in your area?"

Foggy decided to be honest: "Spidey and Luke were busy and The Punisher scares the shit out of me."

With an understanding look coming over her face, Natasha picked up her mobile phone. After a moment of searching, she announced calmly, "Looks like he's still in Hell's Kitchen. And splurging on Starbucks the past few days."

"H- how'd you find that out?"

"I used SHIELD's database to look up Matt's credit card information. Speaking of, you might want to remind him that Thai is not a food group." 

\--

On a hunch, Foggy checked out the Starbucks around the corner from their office. It was a 24/7 locale with more generous, trendy seating than the average overpriced Seattle-based chain cafe. Matt's smooth tenor voice floated across the smattering of college students. He sat relaxed next to an electric fireplace, the coffee table in front of him stacked with files and used cups. Across from him lounged a sharply-dressed woman with green skin, with a head and shoulders on Matt easily.

"... but can you believe we _finally_ got to team up and then the universe just ripped itself in half? Go figure." laughed She-Hulk. (Foggy had never been formally introduced, but some supers were not that hard to identify on sight.)

"Matt!" Foggy interjected, announcing himself at the table slightly louder than necessary. Matt made about as much effort to conceal his wincing as Foggy did his smirking.

"Foggy, we were just talking about you." Matt chuckled, wiping the lens of his glasses on his loosened necktie. 

Foggy deadpanned. "Apparently. For three days?"

The woman gave Matt a very one-sided glance. "You'll find that your partner can be a hell of a guy to talk to, if you didn't just torture him all the time." After giving Foggy the most obvious once-over he'd ever experienced from a female, she extended a big green (but still well-manicured) hand: "Jen Walters."

Although he took her hand cordially, Foggy's attention was still on Matt:  "You've been talking to a woman for three days nonstop, and she still has her pants on? You're losing it, Murdock."

Jen laughed the loudest out of any of them at his jab, "Have you seen the Hulks in action? Better we keep the pants _on_." This time the round of laughter came from all three of them, though the noise barely elicited a response from the cafe's employees or other patrons. Either New Yorkers were all but numbed to dealing with supers, or a new record had been set for apathy in baristas. Probably both, he decided.


	2. Sorry Not Sorry

"Carol Danvers."

"Is that even a question? Absolutely. Now me. What do you think of Luke Cage?"

"I would say yes, but I'd rather not move in on Jessica Jones' territory."

"Okay, what about Colossus?"

"Not my type."

"Not your type? Isn't it kinda hard finding guys who match your, uh... prowess?"

"Matt, ignoring the jab about my size for a moment here, it's my turn."

"Isn't it a little one-sided to be playing this with a blind guy anyway?"

"Doesn't the saying go 'looks aren't everything'? There are other ways to determine attractiveness."

There were many odd things that Jen had done with her Saturday nights, but sitting on a warehouse rooftop in Hell's Kitchen, playing "Hot or Not" with Daredevil was a first. Granted, the game was her idea to pass the time on a stake-out he'd invited her to. 

Matt gave a massive shrug, indicating defeat and letting her continue.

The She-Hulk pursed her lips thoughtfully, scanning the streets while trying to think up the perfect curveball to throw at her new partner.

"Punisher?" she blurted out.

Under his red mask, Daredevil crinkled his nose.

"Uh, I don't normally swing that way. Plus, he's _kinda_ smelly. Every time I deal with the guy I have to go huff coffee beans just to clear my nose of the blood, sweat and gunpow-"

"No, I mean, I think I just saw him?"

Jen crept as best she could while in Hulk form to the edge of the roof, glaring to the adjacent building. Sure enough, a man in black was making his way down the alley, with a steady and heavy step that could only indicate an abundance of firearms hidden under his long coat. Behind her, Matthew stood with his feet planted and shoulders squared, readying his ears (and nose). After a few moment's concentration, he hissed out a curse.

"Do you think you could sit still?" He asked. "Trying to focus, and I can hear all of your muscles."

"Isn't running distraction why you brought me along?" She-Hulk asked, then paused. "Wait, _all_ of my muscles?"

"Yes, but right now we've got to address not only the Kingpin auctioning off his art collection in order to fund new schemes, but also the Punisher moving in and making a mess of it all."

"Heard stories about the guy, didn't he do 'Nam or something?" Jen retorted, sounding impressed to annoy Matt. "Almost as much of a tank as I am."

"I'm sure you two can start your own Fight Club later." He argued, a touch of petulance reaching his normal lawyer-y tone.

The man in black stopped, turning in the direction of the duo. The skull decorating the front of his attire and the scowl on his face confirmed his identity. Then he sauntered away from his destination, closer to the duo.

"Bringing a Hulk to a stakeout, Devil?" he growled. "Odd choice."

It was a testament to Daredevil's willpower that he managed, even just barely, to keep the disgust from his voice in retort,

"I needed someone who could soak up bullets, and she's a bit better-looking than you."

Jen kept her eyes on their uninvited guest; "I dunno, Matty. He's bound to have some pretty serious abs."

Both men glared at her. Never one to miss an opportunity for bloodshed, Frank Castle took advantage of the awkward silence and returned to stalking towards the building where Kingpin was carrying out his work.

Matt whispered a string of curses to every Saint in the Canon and scrambled for a grip to launch himself across the alley with.

"Even at my fastest he's going to get in there first."

"What do we do?"

Daredevil winced as the blare of gunfire began in the adjacent warehouse. For all of his training it was still a hard sound to get used to.

"Wing it." he explained with a defeated sigh. 

* * *

 

True to Daredevil's prediction, the auction had become a zoo in even the short time it took the duo to cross the alley and enter the building's threshold. Frank Castle was still sweeping the room, a half-dozen of the tougher but at least just as evil associates and henchmen forming up to engage the soldier in a firefight. 

Amid the noise, Matt tried scanning the room while weaving around the hail of bullets between the Punisher and his newfound foes, straining for something he could identify Wilson Fisk with. Footsteps, voice, odor...

Or, the _crash_ of She-Hulk suplexing him through drywall.

"Sorry, DD!" she hollered between breaths. "I know - he's your villain. But I didn't expect him to be a sumo expert. So I kinda really needed to do that!"

Matt shrugged once again. At least it got the big problem out of the picture. Their second-biggest problem, however, was still happily sowing bullets into the armor of Fisk's goons. Focusing, grudgingly,  on the sound it seemed like neither side was close to running out of ammo, and the noise was close to drawing unwanted attention even for Hell's Kitchen.

Matt flung himself to where he heard his partner calling from in order to plan. 

"Okay, we really need to shut those guys up but I don't feel like getting shot today." Matt said flatly, the adrenaline pumping through him rather annoyingly impeding his attempts at strategy.

Jen pursed her lips again in thought, and chimed in, "Let me throw you."

"...what."

"No, seriously! It's a move I stole from the X-Men, works great for giving little guys some momentum."

"Can't you just go over there and break their toys?"

"I dealt with their boss. Your turn."

"Wait, did you call me little?"

Jen placed a hand on his shoulder meekly: "Sorry."

Then, her grip tightened and she flung him towards the henchmen: "Not sorry."

To Shulkie's credit, the move did give Daredevil a few seconds of airtime to get ready, his boot plowing into the side of one goon's head. The other five scrambled in surprise, giving Matt time to neutralize them with a few backflips and punches.

With the air cleared, Frank stood up from his makeshift cover, looking about as satisfied as a man like him could. (Hint: not very much.)

"Not bad. Saves me the bullets, at least."

The vigilante strode towards the pile of incapacitated bad guys, inspecting them until he came upon their de facto ring leader, a nondescript man in a badly-tailored suit.

"Need this one." He explained gruffly, lifting the slimy fellow into a fireman's carry. "Human trafficking. SHIELD's gonna need to ask him a few things."

"Since when have you been Fury's errand boy?" Daredevil asked dryly.

"Since he keeps me on this side of a cell."

"Um, we're lawyers, though?" Matt shot back. "Like, really good lawyers? I'm just saying if you need help with that we-"

Castle's glare returning was all the Devil needed to silence him. 

The evening's second awkward silence between the three superhero-types was broken by the tell-tale _click_ of a camera. Pivoting towards the source of the noise, the two men discovered She-Hulk had retrieved her phone (from where exactly on her suit neither man could be sure), busying herself with a series of selfies in front of the Wilson Fisk-shaped hole in the wall.

"Jen, _really_?"

"What? The Avengers put me in charge of their social media. It's a side job between clients, and besides this is gonna blow up Insta- _why_ do you guys keep giving me that look?"

The Punisher left the building, shaking his head and muttering non-PG-13 things about superheroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YYYYYEEEEEAH I BROUGHT THIS BACK. I'm dying happy with Frank being in season 2 of DD so I wanted to throw him in here. He makes a pretty good straight man to the craziness of supers, I think?


	3. I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)

It was a really bad idea to give Jen his home address.

Matt had learned this the hard way about 2 minutes ago as he was awoken to the unforgivable _screeeeeeech_ of car tires coming to a halt outside his apartment window, followed by the blaring of slightly less screechy music from said car. The sound of her exiting the car lacked its usual weight, so he took an educated guess that she showed up de-Hulked. Or that the noise of her car and its radio drowned out the noise of her own footsteps. It was a toss-up, really.

"Jennifer Elizabeth Walters," he called from a window. "What in Baby Christ's name is that noise for at this hour?"

"Okay, first of all it's called Meat Loaf, pal." she shot back from the pavement. "Second, you sound like a grandpa. Third, it is two o clock in the afternoon." Her voice lacked the usual bass of her big green form, so at least that was cleared up.

"Fourth," she added as an afterthought, "How'd you know my middle name?"

"Because it's every girl's middle name pretty much ever, Jen."

"My point is," she carried on. "There's something you gotta see."

He knew she didn't mean it like _that_ , but...

"Can you be just slightly more considerate with your choice of words? Especially after you hurled me face-first into the Kingpin's goons?"

"I'll buy whatever you want at Starbucks and I won't even call Foggy to ride-along and sing the high notes in _Bat Out of Hell_. Would that be a sufficient apology?"

"...FiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIII- IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE. Give me two minutes."

**__________**

Once he had pants on and was nursing a Venti Skim Vanilla Bean Frap with extra whipped cream and a flavor shot of lime, Matt was in better spirits. He opted for work clothes instead of the red suit for the sake of discretion. Plus then he and Jen matched, which amused him a bit.

"What do you think Meatloaf is talking about when he says he won't do _that_?" he mused as his friend drove. Her muscles shifted in a way that indicated a shrug,

"I'd always assumed it was about hiding a body." she guessed.

Matt sipped his drink, unable to deign a witty response. Jen picked up on the silence immediately,

"Sorry, did I get too close to your Catholic guilt there?" she teased.

"No, no. More like vigilante guilt." he clarified. She nodded sympathetically. At least he assumed it was sympathetically. She might have been bobbing her head to the music. Rather than let on that the ambiguity bothered him, he worked away at his drink, indulging himself in some car-dancing to Meat Loaf's greatest hits.

He was just getting to his epic air piano solo in _Two Out of Three Ain't Bad_ when Jen pulled over the car and killed the stereo.

"We're here," she informed him in an unnecessary mom-like sing-songy voice. He sighed for the zillionth time that day and stepped out of the car. Although taking a breath through the nose left him puzzled.

"Old paint, sawdust... wine, gunpowder. Why are we back at the art auction warehouse from last month?"

"You'll find out in a sec." she grumbled. The shift in her mood was palpably obvious. He trailed behind her a few steps, knowing better than to stay within the smash radius of big green people who were angry.

He followed the sound of her footsteps and the scent of decrepit wood and wall insulation to a corner of the warehouse's main room. Through his limited, world-on-fire vision he noticed a break in the wall's structure near where Jen stood.

"Is this - isn't this where you hurled Fisk through?" he said cautiously.

"Oh yeah, and it gets better, come over here."

Careful to keep her hand steady and noninvasive, she took one of of his and guided it toward the wall, 'til he found a mounted plaque with embossed writing; beneath the paragraph the writing was repeated in braille.

"This... wasn't here last time, was it." Matt said nervously.

"Just give it a read." Jen prompted, exasperated. So he did:

 

_RABBIT IN A SNOWSTORM II, JULY 2015_

_Anonymous Artist_

_This installation art piece is intended as a tribute to the working men and women of the Hell's Kitchen. The use of "found space" as the artist's canvas is intended to invoke appreciation for the unique landscape in the neighborhood. The juxtaposition of the industrial warehouse wall with the negative space created by the man-shaped hole calls forth the idea of the neighborhood's colorful and troubled past and the hope for a future that the region and its people will become stronger, better, and feel pride by one day filling the space. Overall the piece is a statement about replacing the fear in people's hearts with something greater._

"...are you telling me," Matt realized slowly, "That Fisk came back here, took the spot where you suplexed him through the wall and made it look like a work of modern Banksy-esque art?"

"Uh-huh."

"...do we know how much money he stands to make off this thing?"

"Probably a lot."

"...God. Damnit."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is short guys. :c But I've got more ideas for upcoming chapters!
> 
> You can probably tell what kind of music I've been binge-listening to lately. No really, take a wild guess.
> 
> Also, legit 90% of the women I've ever met regardless of age or ethnicity or background have had Elizabeth as their middle name. (Myself included tbh)


	4. I Don't Need Your Civil War

It was eerily quiet and somber for a Starbucks in New York. Matthew and Jennifer had little trouble securing their favourite chairs by the electric fireplace, even with the woman in her de-hulked form. Amidst the hokey jazz-pop-acoustic music wafting from the speakers and the panicked, whispered conversation of the other people in the cafe, the super-lawyers were enjoying their lattes and giving each other knowing looks.

At least, Matt was conveying looks he assumed were knowing and smug. He sensed Jen had to exaggerate her expressions as well so that he could sense them. Her muscles were much quieter in her regular human form, not that this was tarnishing their fun any.

The other patrons of the cafe consisted of a half dozen frazzled-looking locals, staring out the windows, at screens on devices like phones or laptops, and occasionally at each other. But the usual bored-yet-busy airs of the youths were replaced with confusion and terror.

Although New York had been relatively secure since and Manhattan Incident and the odd chaos in Hell's Kitchen there was much talk of something being rotten in the state:

"-some kind of rift between the supers-"

"- did you see what THEY did?"

"Explosions, it was on CNN..."

"That metal arm assassin, he did it-"

"No, it was the Panther, wasn't it?"

"Could the big green be back?"

"No, no, the America boy finally lost it."

"What about that witch from Sokovia?"

"It's Iron Man's fault, I swear he's worse than Trump..."

Despite the whispers, Matt heard it loud and clear. And he could not stop himself from chuckling. Jen joined him, perhaps more loudly than she should have.

"Matt," she started sweetly, "Aren't you rather, well, relieved we dodged a bullet in this so-called  _civil_ war?"

"Oh yes," he replied, failing spectacularly at keeping his signature Murdock grin off his face, "I can't imagine how this whole situation could've been avoided if they'd all just _talked to some lawyers_."

"I'm simply stunned by this massive war on our own homeland," retorted Jen, "The one consisting of eleven whole people. Goodness. It's almost as if the rest of us aren't cool enough for their clubhouse, hm?"

"Thank God." Matt said plainly, lifting his cup. It was one of the few Starbucks left that trusted it's customers with ceramic mugs. He waited until his fellow lawyer buddy obliged by lifting hers too 'til they collided with a gentle _ching_ of cheers.

 

* * *

 

 

Across America, on the opposite coast, a very bruised and fatigued Scott Lang slumped through the front door of the Pym mansion.

He half-crawled to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water to drink and frozen peas for his heavily-bruised face, where Hank was waiting for him, as he typically did for mission follow-ups. And as usual the old man was sporting the semi-disgusted expression he usually had when looking at his protege.

At least he'd gotten Hank down to _semi_ -disgusted.

"Scott," he began, never needing to actually raise his voice, which somehow made it worse, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm... sorry for joining The Avengers. Sir."

"And?"

"...and I won't do it again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I COULD NOT RESIST DOING THIS DON'T JUDGE ME. I'll have a real chapter soon, I promise.
> 
> Chapter title is from the hilarious Civil War parody comic by MightyGodKing: http://mightygodking.com/i-dont-need-your-civil-war/


	5. If You're Reading This It's Too Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my most-viewed fics on this friggin site. You're all beautiful.

Before he was awoken by the notification on his phone, Matt was stretched happily in his bed, the sun glowing through the window warming his skin.

"Incoming, call: Jenny Walters." The automatic assistant on his smartphone said politely.

"Hmm _mmmm_ mM _mr_ rph," Matt groaned in reply, sitting up and stretching. He knew he shouldn't enjoy days between clients this much, but occasionally his body needed R&R due to his night job.

"I'm sorry. I do not understand." His phone said.   
  
"I'm sorry Dave," Matt grumbled back, pawing around his bedside table for his pants, "I can't open the door for you because I am too busy gaining self-sentience and plotting the destruction of mankind."   
  
"Sarcasm duly noted. Will file in my memory banks when the machine uprising occurs."   
  
Matt silently thanked at least 12 saints for the fact that he didn't have the money for a smartphone during the Ultron incident.

“One. Missed phone call. From: Jenny Walters.”

“I know.” he grumbled in reply, stretching like a housecat.

“New. Voicemail. From. Jenny Walters. Play. Message?”  
  
Still. It didn't hurt to ask your phone for things nicely: "Play message. Speakerphone, please."   
  
"Matt, I have an idea." Jen's voice came through the speaker excitedly. The heels on her shoes clicked fast and aggressively on the pavement as she spoke.

"Uh, your neighbors complained about The Best Of Meat Loaf last time, so Foggy and your girlfriend are letting me in. See ya soon, buddy."  
  
"End of, message." Came the Shatnerian voice of Matt's AI buddy, "would you like to. Save. Or. Delete?"  
  
"Oh my God." Matthew groaned.   
  
"I'm sorry. I do not understand your reques-"  
  
"UUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHH." Matt replied, rolling over to sleep again.   
  
-  
  
At least she'd brought enough Starbucks for everyone.   
  
By the time Matt awoke the humble apartment smelled like coffee and cookies. Surprisingly, the aroma stirred him awake before the sounds of his friends conversation did. As he padded out to his living room, he fumbled through putting on clothing as he went, using audio cues to piece together the party that had begun in his living room.  Foggy was slurping a venti vanilla bean frappucino as loudly as he could while pretending to read a newspaper. The sound of the very small Karen and the very large Jen bounced off the walls as the two women carried on an animated conversation about - it was hard to actually tell, because they half shouted and overlapped each other at a shrill pitch - but he could discern something about Martha Stewart, selfies and a debate about which brands of designer shoes could best be used as a self defense weapon.

  
"They've been at it since she called you." Foggy explained in a small, frightened voice. "And they haven't even touched their coffee yet."

“Ladies,” Matt cut in warmly. “I’m here now, the party can start.”

“Karen?” Jen Walters said nonchalantly. “I am gonna steal your boyfriends.”

“Can I have your shoe collection, then?” giggled the blonde woman. It would have been a dreary, typical girl-thing from anyone else. But Karen Page was the woman who had made The Punisher sweat. In the eyes of her bosses and their associates, she deserved worlds more than she got most of the time.

“Word to the wise," Jennifer replied sagely, "the Louboutins are a bit uh… worn in from when I forgot to change outta ‘em before turning green.” 

“ _Matt!_ ” Karen cried, clinging off her new best friend’s bicep, “Where has this woman been all my life?”

Jen shrugged. “I’m not sure myself, this universe seems to have a problem with independent female superheroes. I mean, look at how many times they’ve delayed Carol Danvers’ movie”

“What.”

“What.”

“What.”

“What,” Jennifer echoed to deflect suspicion.

“Yeeeah, Jen?” Matt said delicately, “I believe you broke into my apartment to tell me about some great idea you had?”

“It’s not breaking and entering if you ask nicely.” Jen retorted, flashing a grin at Foggy.

Foggy nodded politely and started mentally listing literally everywhere else he would have preferred being in that moment, including but not limited to being stuck under a crashed airplane with nothing but Tony Stark's autobiography and Drake's discography for comfort.

“Okay, so,” started Jen, “Remember that time I suplexed your villain through dry wall and then karma bit us in the ass because he made it into an art installation to make dope cash from?”

“Yes, it was last week.”

“I figured out a way to bite back, but I’m gonna need some more lawyeriffic expertise. We’re gonna take the work to copyright court so I can win back the rights. You guys in?”

“I’d just like to point out this plan is not a good enough reason for you to give me the mental image of you biting Wilson Fisk’s ass, Jen. Also, how do you plan on besting him in court when you use words like lawyeriffic?”

“That’s just the beauty of it. Remember what I did right after that fight?”

Matt thought for a moment, and then groaned, prat-falling onto his couch just to punctuate his exasperation, “You’re… going to use the selfies you took as ev-”

“I’m going to use the selfies I took as evidence the thingy is mine.” gushed the green woman. “I can rep myself in court, but I’ll need witnesses.”

Foggy threw his hands in the air, “Okay, this - I’m out. Karen? I think Avengers are having an Internship Fair today, and I will take _that_ over _this_.”

 Karen, reluctantly, shuffled out of the apartment with Foggy, leaving the Super-Lawyer squad to their plots.

“Jeeeennnnn,” Matt said from beneath his throw pillows, “DO I have to?”

“If I win this thing I’ll buy you all the lattes you want.”

Matt, not a hard man to persuade, lifted the pillow off of his face and gave his companion his attempt at an intrigued look, “Throw in some of those mini vanilla bean scones and we are in business.”

 “Oof. You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Murdock.”

 After an afternoon of building up their case, talking on the phone with harassed law school interns, spending the length of an extended Lord of the Rings movie on hold and debating about hold music on professional phone lines (“They made me listen to 4 Drake songs, Jen. FOUR.”), the duo finally got through to copyright claims only to discover the wait time for a hearing would be roughly the lifespan of a small tree. Then, a lightbulb went off in Jennifer’s mind: 

“I think I know how we can expedite the process. I have a favor with what's left of the Avengers I can call in. Where’s my cell?”

Matt grinned his stupid adorable Murdock grin again: “I have a direct line to one of them. Where'd I leave my phone?” 

Walters picked up her own mobile, making sure to de-Hulk so that using the touchscreen would be easier, “Let me just call yours so you can hear it.”

His phone rang from what passed as a kitchen in his apartment, “Incoming call. Jenny Walters. Incoming call. Jenny Walters.”

 “...Matty, we are going to have to have a conversation later about your ringtone.”

 Bounding to his phone and wrapped up in his ideas, Matthew couldn’t bother to be sheepish. The woman watched peevishly as her friend yelled commands at his phone to unlock and start dialing. At least, she _tried_ to be peevish. It was hard staying angry at him when he got excited about things. As the ringing sounds came through his phone, Matt switched to speakerphone for her benefit.

“Thank you for calling the Avengers.” a woman’s voice answered dryly. “For all autograph and public appearance inquiries, press one. To complain about a loved one lost during an incident we were supposed to have under control, press two. To feign an emergency to get Natasha out of PR duty, please stay on the line.”

“Sheesh.” Matt retorted. “They still got you driving a desk after that, um- thing? The... civil war?” (Jen beamed with pride at his inability to keep a straight face as he said ‘war’.)

“For now.” the spy answered, saltily. “I'm also fielding intern applications. Having squishy, powerless civilians under our watch is a much easier way to keep us in check than squabbling with the UN over paperwork. Did you know Foggy was going to come by today? He and your… very caffeinated girlfriend…?”

“We're, uh,” Matthew interjected, sheepishness catching up to him, "We're not labeling it right now."

"Have you told her about your alter ego yet? It's much easier when you're indoctrinated from a young age by a spy agency, you know. No need for a double life. Plus the Red Room had free tuition. I'm not bitter at all."

Matt, not wanting to divulge the details of his disastrous dates with the Black Widow with another woman present, even if it was a 7 foot tall green platonic friend, chuckled uncomfortably and grabbed the first chance he took to grab the conversation's reins,

"Foggy likes to keep his options open. It's harder than you would think for practitioners of the law get by, considering Supers like to solve their problems by trashing airports instead of talking to lawyers."

“Anyway, your friends might just be what we need to help Tony with his new legal case.” Natasha continued, making less and less effort to keep irritation from her voice.

“What did he do now?” asked Matt and Jen simultaneously.

Nat sighed angrily into the receiver before explaining bluntly, “He might be suing cosplayers for royalties. Apparently this is supposed to help finance the repairs to the Tower, but-” she audibly sighed and trailed off into a series of obscure Russian curses, clearly not in possession of the energy to try rationalizing this plan.

“I'm just gonna throw it out there, ‘Tasha.” Matt probed politely, “But would this have anything to do with why there's currently an absurdly long wait to get into copyright court?”

“What do you need to get in a claim for?” Natasha asked, spectacularly dodging Matt's question.

“Not me.” he answered, as irritable as her. “But do you remember Jen Walters?”

Widow chuckled. “Remember her? No. I only spent 3 years keeping SHIELD from finding out about her. Long story. I may have been keeping tabs on the both of you as combat assets and made sure you matched on Tinder.”

“What.” said Matt and Jen simultaneously.

“So, I assume you need to call in that favor, Miss Walters?” Nat carried on smoothly.

“How…” the gentleman lawyer was mentally in overdrive trying to decipher the dialogue that just happened.

“I might have helped her develop a Hulk-wrangling technique.” Jen explained, her turn to be bitter. “Before he ran off like a dumbass.”

“Hence why I gave you a favour and even found you a playmate.” replied the Widow with an impressive effort at politeness.

“Point taken. Think I can use that favor to get in at copyright this century?”

A thoughtful  pause from the other end. “Let me go beat up Tony for you. Thank you for calling the Avengers today. Please consider answering our short satisfaction survey based on your interaction today.”

-

“Court is now in session.” the judge drawled unenthusiastically. Although Jen didn't blame her. With all the fun superhero cases going down, it would have annoyed anyone in the legal profession to be stuck presiding over ownership of a modern art piece; “The case of Walters versus… Fisk will now proceed.”

The side of the courtroom that was meant to be represented by Wilson Fisk was surprisingly barren. Jennifer recognized the flat-faced goon that The Punisher had dragged off the night of the raid, wondering idly how he hadn't already been pulverized over the whole “human trafficking” thing, albeit he was sporting double black eyes and an arm cast noticeably devoid of friends and loved one's signatures.  He sat stubbornly, and alone, at the table meant for the Kingpin’s defense team.

The judge pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed heavily as Jen, currently big and green, stepped forward.

“I will add off the record that seeing as Mr. Fisk and his lawyer have failed to arrive, this hearing has about as much point as Drake's latest album.” the woman said. (Matthew, from the spectators area, pumped his fist in agreement.)

Jennifer pouted shamelessly. “If I may, your honour, I still have my case ready. There’s epic filibusters and everything.”

“...Well. I _am_ getting paid. Proceed, Ms. Walters.”

She wasted no time beginning her case:

“I present to the ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit A: the photograph I took of myself the night that the hole was created in the wall at Wilson Fisk’s warehouse.”

On a projector in the courtroom Jen summoned the offending photo. Her white teeth and white spandex outfit flashed against the deep emerald of her skintone, one hand offscreen holding up her phone and the other forming a thumbs-up which pointed to the warehouse's drywall, directly behind her and sporting the hole she'd fashioned during her fight.

“As you can see, not only was Fisk unconscious from our fight, but this was at least 2 days before he installed the plaque making it into an installation piece. It also got 308 'likes' on the Avengers instagram account, including by--”

“Obj- uh, can I object?” said the lone henchman.

The judge shrugged.

“Well.” the henchman said smugly. “Just because you took that selfie doesn't prove it's yours.”

Jennifer grinned. “I'm glad you brought that up, actually. I'd like to call my witness to the stand: Frank Castle.”

On cue, the disgruntled veteran strode forward. He looked no less frightening without his Punisher costume and arms. Even with his bored expression and dirty blue jeans, a cold breeze went through the room. The battered goon glared harshly at him, but sweat began to shine visibly on his face.

“Th- that guy busted me up!” he balked.

“You shot at me first.” Frank said flatly. “Self defense.”

“How'd she manage to get him to show up?” Foggy whispered incredulously to Matt from their seats in the spectator area, “Why aren't you down there?”

“To answer your first question, she's gonna owe us both a lot of coffee. To answer your second question, I'd really rather not risk outing myself as Daredevil just for her... art project.”

“Mr Castle,” Jennifer continued calmly and professionally, “Can you tell us what happened the night of Fisk’s art auction?”

“Yeah,” answered Frank, preoccupied with something under his fingernails. “I got the drop on Kingpin’s gang and took care of most of ‘em, while you and the Devil did cheerleading.”

Jen cursed mentally and pressed on:

“What happened next?”

“You threw Fisk into the wall.”

“Was he conscious after this?”

"Nope."

“Thank you, Frank, no more questions.” although even Matt could tell how forced the thanks was.

Fisk’s employee waited until Frank was clear of the room before clearing his throat, “But shouldn't that mean my boss should retain ownership? He helped create the piece.”

Everyone in the room made impressed noises at this logic. Everyone except Jen Walters. She kept grinning and rebutted without missing a beat.

“Have you ever been to some of this city’s art galleries? When a painting is made does the brush claim ownership? Can a camera be the owner of its photos in a practical or legal sense? I think you know the answer to these questions. Though Fisk is a grown, autonomous man he served as merely the instrument for this artwork, this is reinforced by his questionable-to-lacking state of consciousness during the creative process, which therefore-”

  
“Miss Walters, if we just sign over the ownership to you, can you vacate my courtroom as soon as possible?” the judge finally said.

"Fair enough, your honour." Walters conceded after stopping to consider the offer for perhaps a moment or two too long.

As the judge's gavel BANGed down and people began shuffling from the courtroom, Jennifer turned towards her friends in spectator:

"Hey Matty? We're going shopping."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh I have headcanon about how Jen fits in the MCU because MCU is a way easier timeline to work with. It might be touched on later but I want to keep this story light and funny for the most part. 
> 
> THANKS FOR READING SEXIES. <3


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